The boldest rider and the best mounted of his train, had already been sent back to the castle by its master, to order the countess’s coach to be instantly prepared, and brought with all possible speed to the spot where the accident had happened.
“And, for God’s love! bring back a bottle of brandy or wine with you,” screamed a ready-witted individual of the party, who having turned his eyes towards the young hero of the adventure, when he replied to the baron in the manner above-mentioned, perceived that he was either fainting or dying, and very considerately littered this injunction as the surest way of rescuing the sufferer from both.
CHAPTER V.
IT certainly was not the intention of the baron, when he thus hurriedly dismissed his messenger, that his lady should be made to suffer still greater, or, at the least, more lasting, misery than he had endured himself from the accident; but such was the result of the unmitigated clamour which rang throughout the castle, within a few moments after the summons for the carriage arrived at it.
Either the evident urgency of the case, or their habitual promptitude in obeying the commands of the baron, produced such instant obedience to his message, that the carriage was fortunately already on its way to the spot where it was so eagerly waited for, before the alarming report of the adventure had reached the unconscious mother in the quiet, and somewhat remote retreat of her library.
But her respite lasted no longer, for scarcely had the equipage rattled off over the moated entrance, when her own personal attendant, followed by the steward of the household, and the portly housekeeper, all rushed into her presence together, exclaiming in very discordant chorus: “For mercy’s sake, don’t alarm yourself, madam!”
“It will all end in nothing, you may depend upon it!”
“These things are always made the very most, and worst of, my lady!”
“For Heaven’s sake, tell me what you are all talking about,” cried the bewildered lady; “is the castle on fire?”
“No, my lady, no! God forbid! Such a noble castle as this! The whole body of saints and martyrs that lie in the chapel cloisters yonder would rise to put it out, my lady, if it was so,” said the old steward, who was renowned for his exemplary piety, and who now, taking courage from the dignity of his office, and his long service, approached the lady’s reading-desk, and bent himself down with a sort of protecting air over the hack of her chair.
She turned suddenly round to him, but ere she could pronounce the inquiry which was upon her lips, her waiting-woman had dropped on her knees before her and began chafing her hands as if she had been in a fit, while the old housekeeper stood by, in an attitude very eloquently expressive of woe, with the corner of her handkerchief in her eye.
It was certainly scarcely possible that all this could go on without suggesting, as it was intended to do, the idea of something very terrible, which is the usual mode, I believe, of preparing people for the disclosure of some great calamity; the reasoning in such cases being, that it is better that people should suspect something worse than the worst, at first, in order that when they know the real truth, it may bring with it a feeling of relief.
Whether such suffering can ever be really beneficial, may be doubted; but in the case of poor Madame de Schwanberg, it was very decidedly the reverse, for her daughter being now always the first object of her thoughts, the idea immediately suggested by the moaning around her was, that she had been thrown from her horse, and was killed!
“My daughter is dead!” she exclaimed, and having distinctly uttered these fearful words, she uttered a piercing shriek, and fell back in her chair as pale and as motionless as a corpse.
It was in vain that the three raven messengers now screamed in chorus: “No! No! No! not dead, my lady!” She heard them not; and although she had moved her limbs, and once or twice partially opened her eyes, she was still nearly insensible, when the carriage conveying the hero and heroine of the adventure returned to the castle.
On entering the hall, Gertrude, who, excepting the injury done to her pretty riding-dress, was not in the least degree the worse for it, stood for a moment irresolute as to whether she should run first to embrace her dear mamma, and wish her joy of still having a troublesome daughter; or fly to the housekeeper’s room, to order that a bed should immediately be prepared for the young hero who had saved her.
It was much to her honour that she decided upon the latter, for strong was her longing to embrace that dear mamma, and witness her happiness at having her safe at home again. But the selfish thought was speedily dismissed; one glance at the pale face of her preserver, as the servants assisted him from the carriage, being quite sufficient both to decide and accelerate her movements.
But her active gratitude was of no avail, for it was in vain she sought the important functionary at her usual post; and not finding her, she at once decided that “mamma” was the properest person to say what was immediately to be done in order to obtain for the poor sufferer the relief of lying down, with as little delay as possible.
Though the distance from the housekeeper’s domain to the library, was much more considerable than the inhabitants of our degenerate mansions are accustomed to tread, in passing from one part of a house to another, the space was rapidly traversed by Gertrude; but the feeling of thankful happiness with which she was about to throw herself into her mother’s arms was changed to terror, when, on entering the room, she beheld her mother stretched upon a sofa as pale as a corpse, with her eyes closed, and giving no sign of life save deep-drawn sighs, every one of which seemed to be a gasping effort to recover breath.
The servants, who still stood trembling around her, hardly knew whether she was conscious of their presence or not, for she had not spoken since the first heart-broken exclamation which she had uttered upon being told that she was “not to alarm herself.”
Deadly pale as were her cheeks and lips, however, she was not insensible, for no sooner had the voice of her child pronounced the words “Mamma! dear, darling mamma!” than the closed eyes opened, and the seemingly helpless arms raised to receive her.
“Is it about me, mamma?” cried the frightened girl, kneeling down beside her. “Did the people tell you I was hurt, mamma? It was very, very wrong of them if they did, for I am not hurt, not the least bit in the world; but HE is hurt! The dear, brave boy that saved my life, without thinking for a moment about his own!” And then the eager girl, addressing the group of servants who still hung round her mother, as if they were performing thereby a most important duty, she added: “I tried to find one, or all of you, even before I came here, that you might get a bed ready, if only for him to die in! Oh! I wish you had seen him, mamma!” she continued, while tears of gratitude started to her eyes. “He seemed to think no more of his own danger, when he sprang into the water to save me, than if he had been already as immortal as an angel.”
“Go, go, good Agatha!” cried the baroness, who seemed restored to life as if by miracle; “and you too, Hans, go both of you, and see that everything is provided for this boy — this benefactor. And tell him — tell him that I would come to him myself, but that my dear dripping girl must be attended to.”
The two servants she addressed obeyed her command with all possible celerity; for, in truth, they were as curious, as obedient, and as eager to wait upon this wonderful young hero, and to hear all that was to be known about him, as their mistress could be that he should be taken care of.
But no sooner was this duty of dismissing them on their errand performed, than transferring a portion of the attention she had been bestowing upon her daughter’s bright face, to her dripping garments, she almost relapsed into terror for her life, when she became aware of their condition.
She rose from the sofa, from which, a few minutes before, her attendants had doubted if she would ever rise again, and offering her arm to her radiant daughter as if her steps wanted support, prepared to lead her from the room, exclaiming, in the very extremity of eager haste, “Oh, Gertrude! Gertrude! why did you not tell
me that you were in this condition? It may be the death of her still, Teresa!”
“It will be the death of you first, my lady,” cried the terrified abigail; “you that have been lying here senseless for an hour or more, to be starting up in this way! Let me alone for taking care of the young baroness. Come along, my dear!”
Teresa was an old servant, and a privileged person upon most occasions, and might now have said whatever she chose without the least danger of being chid; but as to preventing the resuscitated baroness from attending Gertrude to her room, she might as well have attempted to make Gertrude herself turn pale.
The trio, therefore, sought the young lady’s dressing-room together, and nothing certainly could be less like sickness or sorrow, than the aspect of both mother and daughter, when they were startled by a knock at the door.
Teresa immediately opened it, in obedience to a sign from her mistress; and to the astonishment of them all, they beheld the stately master of the castle standing before it.
How the castle of Schwanberg was a very large castle, and the apartments allotted to the different members of the family were not only perfectly distinct, but at a considerable distance from each other.
It might be for this reason, perhaps, that the baron, who was not only a very ceremonious, but (except on horseback) a very unlocomotive person, had rarely, or never been seen before on the spot where he now presented himself.
If Gertrude had been a little more inconvenienced by her accident, or if her lady-mother had been a little less thoroughly recovered from her false alarm, the effect of this very unexpected visit would have been less remarkable.
But the poor baron had, with his own eyes, beheld his darling daughter and heiress in such real, and very near danger of death, that he had himself by no means recovered from the shock, and the sight of the mother and daughter sportively engaged in contemplating the condition of the drenched garments, nay, positively laughing heartily at some of Teresa’s tragic exclamations as she gazed upon them, so astonished, and in truth, so shocked him, that he dropped into the nearest chair with a look of absolute dismay.
The baroness saw how matters stood in a moment; and knowing that it would be impossible to make him gay, she might awaken him to a feeling of happiness, she turned from her laughing girl, and laying her hand kindly on her husband’s arm, said to him, with a very sweet smile, “Gertrude is wild with joy at her own escape, and the sight of my happiness.”
“I would rather see her grateful than wild for her escape,” replied the baron, very solemnly; “and though, of course, I cannot but rejoice at finding her so perfectly recovered, I should have been better pleased if she appeared to think more seriously of the danger she has escaped.”
“Do not suspect her of ingratitude for this great mercy; and do not suspect me of it, either,” replied the baroness, while very pious tears rushed to her eyes, as she raised them in gratitude to Heaven.
“Of course, wife, of course!” returned the baron, crossing himself. “God forbid that I should suspect either of you of impiety! A proper service will be performed with as little delay as possible in the chapel of the castle to return thanks for the special interference of Providence in my favour, nor can I for a moment doubt, that you will both of you join in this service with feelings of devotion becoming the occasion. But the gratitude to which I allude is of a different kind. The young lad who so bravely endangered his own life for the purpose of saving that of my daughter, is now suffering, under the shelter of my roof, from the effects of the perilous effort which he made to ensure her safety; and having already had my mind set at ease by the report of my daughter’s safety, I have taken the liberty, wife, of seeking you here, for the purpose of stating to you my opinion, that the condition of this suffering boy well deserves and (considering the cause of it) demands some sort of hospitable attention on your part.”
It must be confessed that it was a very rare thing for the baron’s harangues to produce so great an effect upon those who listened to him, as on the present occasion. Both the mother and daughter were sincerely shocked and repentant, at thinking that one to whom they owed so much, should have been for a moment forgotten; and the baroness hesitated not to leave her daughter to the care of Teresa, and the consequential individual who had formerly officiated as nurse to the young lady, and who had now joined the party in Gertrude’s bed-room.
It was impossible for the baron to feel otherwise than satisfied on perceiving the effect he had produced; and it was, therefore, very nearly in his most gracious and condescending manner that he now presented his arm to his lady, in order to conduct her, as in duty bound, to the chamber of their suffering guest.
Nothing could have been more fortunate for the young hero of the adventure, than this fancied superiority of noble feeling and amiable conduct on the part of the baron; for it at once caused him to identify the lad with himself as one party, while his thoughtless young daughter, and her seeming ungrateful mother, formed another. This was of itself quite enough for a man so intensely vain as the Baron von Schwanberg, in order to make everything concerning the boy, a matter of interest to him.
It is quite certain, that his marriage with the high-minded woman who had been given to him by her family for his wife, had been as little a source of happiness to him, as to her. To comprehend, or understand her character and qualities, was beyond the scope of his ability; but some faculty, apparently approaching to instinct, produced a very disagreeable sort of vague conviction on his mind that she was, in some way or other, above him. This feeling would have been more painful still, if his vanity had not taken refuge in the constant recollection of his lady’s high birth, which being, undeniably, still more illustrious than his own, accounted very naturally, and almost satisfactorily, for the sort of involuntary deference which he paid her.
But now it was quite evident that in nobleness of character he was her superior; for had he not himself stood for several minutes by the young stranger’s bed, in order to be sure that he was placed safely in it, while the heedless mother of the heiress whose life had been saved by the young stranger’s valour, was childishly at play with her daughter in the most distant part of the castle!
Nevertheless, he was generous enough to abstain from uttering a word more of reproach on the subject; contenting himself by observing, in a very solemn tone, as, with a very solemn step, he led her to the chamber of the sufferer, that “he trusted the humble station of the individual they were about to visit would be forgotten, or excused, in consideration of the immense blessing which Providence had ordained that he should bestow on the house of Schwanberg.”
It is impossible to deny, that the lady to whom this harangue was addressed, had taught herself to hear the pompous platitudes of her lord without permitting them to interfere greatly with the course of her, probably, very distant thoughts; and she was now so occupied by the important question which had just arisen in her mind, as to the possibility of Gertrude’s having taken cold, that when his speech was ended, which happened just as they arrived at the door of the boy’s room, she replied, “Oh, certainly,” in so very careless a tone, that the baron breathed a silent vow, as he turned the lock, that this unnatural indifference on the part of his wife, should be atoned for on his, in a way that should do his grateful feelings justice in the eyes both of God and man.
Notwithstanding her momentary oblivion, however, of the errand she was upon, there was nothing like ingratitude in the heart of the baroness; and even if there had been, it would have given place to a very contrary feeling, the moment she beheld the suffering boy who had saved the life of her child.
The paleness which had been the first visible effect of the pain he had suffered from the injury he had received, had now given place to the bright hectic of fever. The least experienced eye could hardly fail to perceive, at the first glance, that the fervent glow of his cheek, and the preternatural brightness of his eye, were the result of suffering, and not of health; yet, nevertheless, the first feeling of Mada
me de Schwanberg, as she looked at him, was that of unmixed admiration. She thought she had never beheld such perfect beauty before; and perhaps she was right; for lovely as her own daughter certainly was, the face which she now saw before her, was lovelier still. The forehead was large and beautifully formed, and the dark eyebrows were of the form which best helps expression, without being themselves a too conspicuous feature. The nose, mouth, and chin might have furnished a precious model to a statuary who wished to emulate the type of Greece, without the sort of exaggerated regularity which, except in a few rare instances, destroys the expression of great intelligence. The rich natural curls of his dark hair were in what could not fail, from their beauty, to be “admired disorder;” but, nevertheless, they had been so wildly handled by the feverish hand which supported his head, that the effect was painful, for his whole aspect suggested the idea of incipient delirium.
The first effect that his appearance produced on the lady of the castle was, as before stated, admiration; but a moment’s contemplation of it produced alarm, and her first words were expressive neither of gratitude nor welcome; for she only said, with hasty abruptness, “I hope, baron, that you have sent some one for Dr. Nieper!”
The baron was positively both shocked and angry. “What a reception to give the youthful hero who had saved her child!” were the words he muttered, as he turned his head away from the offending lady.
“Do you fear infection, madam?” was the reply he made to her; and it was spoken in a tone of so much contempt, that she really hoped for a moment that her fears were absurd; and she answered, with something like a smile, “Oh, no!” but then added, “I really scarcely know what I fear; but I am of opinion, baron, that medical advice will be necessary.”
This certainly was said without any smile; but so strongly persuaded was the baron that no one but himself had sufficient feeling and discernment united, to be aware of the boy’s real condition, that he still thought she was speaking ironically; and it was really with a very awful frown that he replied, “I believe, madam, that the best thing you can do, is to return to your daughter; concerning her condition I have no anxiety, having accompanied her home in the carriage, enjoying thereby the great happiness of perceiving that she was never in better health and spirits in her life. I shall, as I have already said, take care that a proper service, at which you will, of course, assist, shall be performed in the chapel, as an acknowledgment to the Virgin for her special care of our child. As for this youth, I will at present trouble you no more concerning him. He would, doubtless, be more interesting if he were of higher birth, but, nevertheless, I feel myself, as the head of a noble house, bound to testify, by every means in my power, my thankfulness for the service he has rendered it. Give yourself no trouble whatever about him. I will take care that he shall neither want medical aid, nor anything else that can be of use to him.”
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 433